


keep me company.

by compaybarba (juliococktazar)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Possible Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, The Author has no idea what she's doing, i'll add more tags as the story progresses and i figure it out, nor where this is going, same thing with the characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2020-09-30 13:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20447792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliococktazar/pseuds/compaybarba
Summary: Rafael Barba knew his friend Eddie García had a sister, but she grew up far away, over a thousand miles away from Jerome Avenue. He knew her name was Beatriz, and she was raised by her grandmother in Puerto Rico. The first time they met, it was an accident. Rafael was looking for Eddie, and Beatriz was running late for work. They met again a few months later, when she became Manhattan SVU's newest detective.Beatriz liked how different her name sounded coming from his lips. How each vowel sounded exactly right. He took his time with it, like he was savoring each syllable.Rafael liked how she rolled the ‘r’ in his name just right, and how her mouth sort of curled into a smile when she said it. It made him smile too.





	1. " yo sé lo mismo que tú. "

**Author's Note:**

> no one asked for this. i have no idea what i'm doing. i have no idea where this is going.

What starts as a normal - almost _ boring _ \- day at SVU quickly devolves into chaos. Amaro’s father stops by the precinct, leaving quite an impression on those lucky enough to shake hands with him. He doesn’t fool Sergeant Benson, who’s already heard enough stories to know his visit comes as a less-than-pleasant surprise for his son, a man who’s perennially at the end of his rope.

Detective Beatriz García isn’t privy to the same details as Olivia, but she notices the way her partner’s jaw clenches at the mere sight of his progenitor. The way his eyes beg for any excuse to stay at the precinct, to avoid lunch with Nicolas. It’s enough information to fill in the blanks. If it hadn’t been for Carisi, Amaro Sr. would have been forced to leave the bullpen the same way he came in. Leave it to the new kid to screw things up. Once the Amaros are gone, Bea smacks Carisi’s arm and sits back at her desk. “Read the room.”

It’s all downhill from there. That night, Nicolas Amaro’s rehearsal dinner (which _ Nicky _ , as his father calls him, refused to attend) spirals into a nasty brawl. Nick and Bea rush to the scene. The bride-to-be, Gabriella, accuses her fiancé of beating her, then takes it back - _ after _ Nick speaks to her in Spanish.

The next day, Fin and Carisi head out to investigate. Amaro’s back on desk duty, and García, who was present when Gabriella disclosed, is on ‘Nick duty’. The IAB interrogation is a familiar song and dance, but Tucker (surprisingly) doesn’t put up a fight. Nick tells his side - he never told Gabriella to change her story. Bea, also fluent in Spanish, backs him up. They’re both cleared, but Amaro’s instructed to stay away. Bea watches his hand curl into a fist on their way out, but he takes a deep breath and shakes it loose with a heavy sigh.

They walk in silence, huddled up in their winter coats. A few blocks later, Nick opens up. “He’s gonna get away with this again.”

_ Again _. Bea’s head snaps in his direction. It confirms what she already suspected. “He won’t. We’ll get him.”

They share a look. He’s searching for _ something _ in her expression, a hint of understanding. She nods, and that puts him at ease. He’s grateful he doesn’t have to delve into his family history, unpack all the years of abuse he’s meticulously boxed up and stored in the back room of his psyche. She knows. It’s why they make such a good pairing - they can read each other with just a look, calm each other with a single word.

At first, when Olivia took over as commanding officer and García, a recent transfer from Bronx SVU, became his new partner, Nick wasn’t sure they’d be a good fit. Everything in his life was rocky (it still is), and he wasn’t sure he would click with someone new. But they did. And they do. And he’s sure the fact that she’s Puerto Rican doesn’t hurt.

“You know you shouldn’t do that,” Nick advises her, a scolding edge to his voice.

Bea glances at him, a cigarette wedged between her lips, still unlit. She holds the lighter in one hand, while the other serves as a shield against the harsh January wind. She uses that same hand to pull it away so she can speak. “It’s cold, I’m stressed,” she reasons. “And I can quit whenever I want.” She adds the last bit with a teasing smile before resuming her previous action.

She’s careful to blow the smoke _ away _ from Nick, but he still turns dramatically to the other side with a huff. “You could at least wait until I’m gone.”

“We’re almost at the precinct,” she replies, pointing at the entrance with the same cigarette Amaro glared at earlier. Once they approach, she nods toward the doors, ushering him inside. “I’ll meet you in a bit,” are her parting words. The squad can spare her for a bit longer, so she leans against the wall, arms crossed over her chest.

Moments later, ADA Rafael Barba walks out. “Detective,” he greets her with a polite nod.

She replies with the same gesture. “Counselor.”

His eyes zero in on her cigarette, but not with the same disdain as Amaro. She recognizes the reluctant longing behind his eyes, so she wordlessly sticks it out for him to take. He hesitates, but accepts. He takes a drag, exhales, and watches the smoke swirl up into the foggy air.

“I haven’t had a smoke since before I left Brooklyn,” he remarks, returning the cigarette, smacking his tongue at the familiar (but almost forgotten) taste of tobacco in his mouth.

“Cuidao, [[1](/)] you don’t wanna get hooked,” she jokes back, wagging her finger in front of his face in hypocritical warning.

He lets out a single laugh. “I think I’m safe.”

They first met by chance. It was bound to happen, their paths were always meant to cross, eventually. But Beatriz wasn’t supposed to be home that day when Rafael visited 16 Burnside Avenue, looking for an old friend. He was expecting Eddie to open the door, or maybe his mother, a short woman with thick eyebrows and dark hair who never seemed to age, not since he was a teenager. But before he even got a chance to knock, the door swung open, and Beatriz García found herself right in front of him. She was running late, and he was blocking her path.

The interaction was hasty. He asked for Eddie, explained he was a childhood friend. She said he was out, and called her mom to the door so she could deal with their visitor.

Before he could ask for her name, she was already gone, rushing down the stairs. It was Mrs. García who told him - that was Eddie’s sister.

From then on, they heard about each other through stories told by Eddie or Mrs. García. Rafael could finally put a face to the little sister that grew up in Puerto Rico. Beatriz learned that one of Los Tres Mosqueteros [[2](/)] wore suspenders and pocket squares.

A little over a year later, they’re outside the 16th precinct, discussing a case they wish they didn’t have to pursue.

“So what’s your read on this mess?” she asks, cocking her head back toward the station.

Barba takes a deep breath, stuffs his hands into his coat pockets. “I hate everything about it.”

She nods solemnly. He doesn’t need to explain why - she hates it too.

“How much do you know about your partner’s father?” He narrows his eyes in that stern, yet gentle way he does when he wants to get information out of someone.

Bea hesitates. She wants to tell him, help him put Nicolas behind bars, but it’s not her place. She averts his gaze by focusing on the cigarette butt she’s now grinding under her boot. “Not much. You know how Nick is, he doesn’t really talk about it.” She shrugs, and Rafael knows that’s not all of it.

“You’re his partner, te tiene que haber dicho algo.” [[3](/)] He tries again, but Bea’s far too loyal to Amaro. She knows Barba’s the _ last _ person he wants knowing any intimate details about his childhood.

“Nada.” [[4](/)] Her eyes meet his. “Yo sé lo mismo que tú.” [[5](/)]

And she doesn’t know how true that is. He doesn’t press further.

The second time they met was shortly after Beatriz transferred to Manhattan. Olivia introduced them, not knowing that they were already aware of the other’s existence. They exchanged names for the first time.

Beatriz liked how different her name sounded coming from his lips. How each vowel sounded exactly right. He took his time with it, like he was savoring each syllable.

Rafael liked how she rolled the ‘r’ in his name just right, and how her mouth sort of curled into a smile when she said it. It made him smile too.

“I should go in,” she announces. “Gotta earn my paycheck.” She straightens up, ready to head back into work.

“Say hi to the family for me.”

“Come over for dinner one day, you can tell them yourself.” Her back is already turned to him as she goes inside. “Nos vemos, Rafael.” [[6](/)]

He smiles, imagining the shape of her lips as she says his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations:
> 
> [1] — "Careful,"  
[2] — The Three Musketeers.  
[3] — "He must have told you something."  
[4] — "Nothing."  
[5] — "I know as much as you do."  
[6] — "See you, Rafael."


	2. " esto no pasó, ¿verdad? "

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you ask them, neither remembers exactly how it started. Neither remembers which one of them made the first move, but they’ll decide it just doesn’t matter. It didn’t happen.
> 
> The truth is, it all started with a look.
> 
> Rafael doesn’t like to talk about his father, but this case brought back too many memories. Talking to Bea made it easier to pour out his feelings - she already knew his story. Vaguely, at least. She knew his father was dead, and that no one was really sad to see him go. She didn’t have to guess why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's been almost a full year since i posted the first chapter. i've had this one written for almost as long, but just didn't feel confident enough to post it. i promise i won't disappear for that long again. i'm working on the next chapter, and being on lockdown makes writing a lot easier. hopefully this chapter makes up for such a long disappearance.
> 
> oh, and please forgive me for the dumb little company reference.

Two minutes in a room with Mr. Amaro, and Rafael Barba’s knocked off balance for the rest of the trial. The man pushes every single one of his buttons. “He’s never had the nerve to go up against his father,” Nicolas says about his son, but Rafael’s mind is stuck on  _ his _ old man, buried six feet under. Nicolas stands too close to him, invades his personal space, breathes in his face. Even a seemingly innocuous comment about his suspenders makes Rafael’s hand curl into a fist. For the rest of the trial, he feels like he’s in a boxing match on a slip-n-slide. Every time he throws a punch, he loses his footing. He can’t make anything stick.

By the end of the first day, he knows he’s fighting a losing battle, and there’s not enough scotch in the world to make it better. He tells Amaro as much. For once he can sympathize with the detective. He offers him an out, tells him he doesn’t have to testify. Nick doesn’t take it, so the trial moves along.

He’s losing sleep over a case that should’ve been a slam dunk. Not even Amaro’s testimony can save the case. In fact, the defense uses it in their favor. In the courtroom, Rafael Barba feels just like a kid again. His fists balled, unable to defend himself against his father. That night, he goes to bed feeling impotent. Just like he did so many times, all those years ago. Useless.

Sitting in the gallery, Beatriz shares that feeling. Helplessness laced with anger. Her stomach churns each time Nicolas looks at his son with faux innocence, playing the role of the changed man, the reformed father who only wants to mend his relationship with his son. The act is all too familiar to her. She’s out of the courtroom before Barba’s even done questioning him.

Outside, after summations, all her anger boils over, misdirected at Barba.

“What the hell was that?”

The bark in her tone startles him, it almost makes him flinch. “Think you can do a better job?” he spits back.

“Maybe.” She fronts, but then looks him in the eye and her anger dissipates. It’s not really him that she’s mad at, he’s just an easier target. And when their eyes meet, it’s like looking in a mirror. She sees the same rage, the same disappointment, the same feeling of defeat. They’re on the same side.

“I don’t know what happened up there,” Barba admits.

Beatriz nods, but doesn’t say anything. She knows exactly what happened, but it’s not the time to discuss it. It’s already over. The jury comes back in less than 20 minutes - even before the foreman utters the verdict, they all know Nicolas Fiorello Amaro is walking away from this completely unscathed.

Sergeant Benson lets Amaro and García have the rest of the day off. Nick goes back to the precinct; he figures doing paperwork is a good way to ignore everything that just happened. Beatriz can’t ignore it. So when Rafael suggests getting drinks at Forlini’s, she tags along. If she can’t get her mind off the verdict, she can at least drown those thoughts with some wine.

Hours later, she’s woken up by the sound of her phone vibrating against some hard surface. It’s still dark out, but she knows it’s far too late for this to be a social call. Reluctantly, Beatriz reaches around for her cell, which she discovers on the floor next to the bed. She’s careful not to wake her host, but her attempts are futile; he stirs awake as she reads the incoming text.

Half asleep and with his arm still draped over her torso, Rafael groans and draws Bea’s body close to his once more. But she pulls herself away and steps out of the bed.

“Where are you going?” he breathes out in a yawn, eyes still closed.

“Precinct.” There’s a beat as she slips into her jeans. “Don’t get up.”

He groans again, and stretches in place. “Do you have to?” He’s still in that state between asleep and awake. Still a little dazed, a little soft, moments before his better judgement kicks in.

The question elicits a soft chuckle as she fastens on her brasier. “Yes, I have to.” She shoots him a quick smile, sees him with his eyes still closed. “Don’t get up,” she jokes.

“Do you want...coffee, or something?” He rubs his eyes, looks at her with heavy eyelids.

She laughs again. It’s clear he’s not getting out of bed anytime soon, but she appreciates the sentiment. “I can get it on my way there.”

She finishes getting ready in silence while he still battles the urge to fall back asleep. He feels like he should wait for her to leave. Things are bound to get awkward between them, so he figures the least he can do is keep himself awake and not be a  _ total _ jackass while she gets dressed. They should probably talk about what happened; put all the cards on the table. But his thoughts are still too groggy, he hasn’t had any caffeine, and she’s rushing to deal with some horrible crime he’ll have to prosecute later. It’s not the right time.

Beatriz is already at the door, but hesitates. “Esto no pasó, ¿verdad?” [[1](/)] She waves a finger at the space between her and Rafael, searching his face for confirmation in the darkness. It’s almost like she’s hoping he’ll say something different, but she knows this was a one-time thing. Given their relationship, it’s something that won’t be discussed in the near future either, because there’s nothing to discuss. It was a lapse in judgement, even if she can admit (to herself, and no one else), that it left her wanting more.

He props himself up on his elbows, now mostly awake. Maybe it’s the dim lighting, maybe it’s wishful thinking, but to her, he almost looks disappointed. “That would be appropriate, yes.” His previous plan of clearing the air flies out the window. It seems to him that everything is pretty clear. Their relationship can’t be anything more than what it was just a few hours before - they’re colleagues. Friendly colleagues; her older brother is one of his oldest friends. Rafael doesn’t even want to think about how Eddie might react if he finds out he had sex with his little sister.

Luckily, she understands. What happened between them stays there. She nods. “Thought so. Nos vemos, [[2](/)] counselor.” And with that, she’s gone, locking the door behind her. Rafael slumps back down onto his pillow, closes his eyes, and tries not to think about the repercussions of what he just did, and how much warmer his bed was when Beatriz was in his arms.

If you ask them, neither remembers exactly how it started. Neither remembers which one of them made the first move, but they’ll decide it just doesn’t matter. It didn’t happen.

The truth is, it all started with a look.

Rafael doesn’t like to talk about his father, but this case brought back too many memories. Talking to Bea made it easier to pour out his feelings - she already knew his story. Vaguely, at least. She knew his father was dead, and that no one was really sad to see him go. She didn’t have to guess why.

Beatriz opened up easier - she confessed how even though her father’s still alive, sometimes she wishes he weren’t. It took him aback - not so much because he disapproved, but because he wasn’t expecting such a blunt statement. No one ever admits to something like that. He always knew Bea and Eddie didn’t share a father, and neither sperm donor was exactly the World’s Best Dad. There was a reason why the siblings shared their  _ mother’s _ last name. Still, she opened a window he hadn’t looked through before. Sitting in a booth at the back of Forlini’s, both parties were suddenly much more vulnerable than they’d ever been.

He wasn’t sure how to respond to her confession, but when she looked at the waiter, signaling for another glass of wine, he reached out for her hand that was still on the table. It was the only gesture of comfort he could muster, a pure act of compassion. She looked down at his hand, then up at him. Were the lights just a little bit brighter, or the weather just a little bit warmer, he would have pulled his hand back. He would have apologized for being too forward.

That one touch awoke something in them that they hadn’t realized was dormant. Some primal desire, a yearning for something they couldn’t put their finger on. Their hands remained still, until she started rubbing small circles with her thumb on his skin. A small, intimate gesture. They stayed like that for a few seconds, but said nothing of it. Eventually he slipped his hand away and continued to drink his scotch.

A while later, they were walking down the street so Rafael could Uber home. They were laughing about something that happened at the bar, something which weeks later would still elicit subtle giggles from the two of them. They laughed, tipsy, unstable limbs making them lean into each other as they made their way to the corner. Bea stumbled against the wall of another bar, and as she tried to hold onto Rafael for support, he crashed into her. There was a beat as their bodies gained awareness of their sudden proximity. Their laughter faded, as did their smiles, as they gauged the distance between them, their breath the only unit of measurement.

He was the one to close the gap. His hand on her hip, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against hers. She responded by gripping the back of his neck and pulling him closer. She parted her lips, hoping he’d accept the invitation, and he did, deepening the kiss.

She caught the scent of expensive scotch and cologne as he broke away to plant kisses along her jaw. Her neck. She tried to stifle a moan when he sucked on her skin, but just the feeling of her against him made Rafael warm below the belt. He could feel his excitement growing. So could she.

In a daring move, she slid her hand under his coat and hooked a finger on one of his belt loops. She pulled him closer, bucking her hips forward, creating friction between them. His breath hitched in his throat, and she smiled.

“Do you want to...” he started, between kissing and sucking the skin of her neck.

“Yes,” she answered with heaving breaths, and he connected their lips once more, this time with more force, more hunger.

They kissed, sloppily, the entire ride from the bar to his building. When they stepped onto the sidewalk, he asked again: “You sure que quieres -” [[3](/)]

She responded by pulling him down by his tie crashing their lips together once more. Breaking away, she looked into his eyes, there was no doubt in her mind. “Sí.” [[4](/)]

So he took her hand and led her inside. All bets were off once they were alone in the elevator. He pushed her against the wall, mouths clashing, sucking, biting. She placed one hand on the back of his neck, and used the other to pull him closer. She arched her back so there was no space between them, no air. He decided he had to start getting rid of all the layers between them. He opened her coat and hastily unbuttoned her shirt, hoping no one stepped into the elevator before they reached his floor. His mouth wandered over every bit of skin he’d gained access to, leaving hot, wet kisses in his wake.

They heard a ding, and as the doors opened, Beatriz wrapped her shirt around her, covering herself until they were safely inside his apartment. Once they were alone again, all flushed cheeks and heavy breaths, she shook off her coat and her shirt in a single movement, standing before Rafael in just her bra, jeans, and shoes.

He was working on getting rid of his own layers. Coat, jacket, vest, and shirt, all thrown across the floor as they stumbled into the bedroom. Rafael unclasped her bra with such ease that it made her giggle, but her laughs turned into moans as he pushed her onto the bed and his mouth traveled downwards, kissing and sucking and biting the skin around her breasts. He’d remember that sound in the morning, her laughing and moaning under him, and secretly crave it months after.

They were both wearing pants, and that was the biggest obstacle. Rafael pulled away, and Beatriz kicked off her boots, unbuckled her jeans and peeled them off. Lying back on the bed in nothing but a pair of lilac panties, she was grateful she chose that pair earlier that day (instead of something less youthful). Standing next to the bed, Rafael removed the rest of his clothes.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked yet again.

“Yes,” she repeated for the third time, sitting up just a bit so she could take a good look at him as he undressed in front of her.

With her assurance, he crawled on top of her, and got rid of that last bit of fabric between them.

But none of that happened. At least, that’s what they agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations:
> 
> [1] — "This didn't happen, right?"  
[2] — "See you,"  
[3] — "That you want to -"  
[4] — "Yes."


End file.
